


A Spell of Protection

by Shadow_of_Quill



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Panic Attacks, Ritual Sacrifice, Teen!Stans, Waking up Restrained, Whumptober 2020, they look so pretty when they bleed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_of_Quill/pseuds/Shadow_of_Quill
Summary: Co-dependency means being willing to give up too much for each other.
Relationships: Ford Pines/Stan Pines
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	A Spell of Protection

Something was digging into his back. Stan grimaced, reaching to push whatever it was away - but his arms were stuck, and as he slowly woke up he discovered that was because they were tied to the bedposts. "Uh...?" he grunted, trying to figure out what was going on.

"You're awake!" Ford's voice. That was Ford's voice, complete with the manic tinge it seemed to have ever since he read out that weird inscription they found when they went back to that old cave to try and find out _why_ it had been boarded up (Ford's idea, after they ran out of wood to use on the Stan o' War). Stan opened his eyes and looked, and yep, that was his nerdy brother, big glasses and curly mess of hair and everything.

"Hey, Sixer," he said, feeling a wave of relief. "Mind untying me?" _Before whoever did this gets back,_ he thought but didn't have the chance to say before Ford was shaking his head frantically.

"No no, I can't _yet,_ that just completely defeats the purpose of tying you down in the first place!"

Stan froze, trying to force a smile onto his face and able to feel that he was only managing a weird grimace. "...You... tied me down?"

Ford nodded vigourously, eyes almost feverish as he stared down at Stan with an expression creepily like that homeless guy they'd seen once going around begging for someone to _listen to him, please!_ "I had to," he explained, way too calmly. "I had to, because -" the calm cracked, and Stan thought he might have preferred it to what was underneath - "because it's getting too close, and I can't, I _can't_ let it happen, _we_ can't let it happen, it _can't_ happen, Stan -"

"Okay, right, it can't happen," Stan agreed quickly, arms strained from automatically trying to reach over and comfort Ford. "We won't let it happen, okay, bro? We'll stop it."

"It can't happen," Ford muttered helplessly, barely seeming to hear Stan over whatever was going on in his head. 

"We'll stop it, it won't happen," Stan repeated, trying to hammer the words into his brother's head. He tried nudging Ford with his foot since he couldn't use his hands, but all Ford did was push his foot away without even looking.

"It - it can't... it _won't_ happen," Ford said, a spark of determination in his voice, and Stan was relieved to hear it - and then Ford looked at him, tied up and (helpless) (vulnerable) (trapped) and Stan had never seen that expression on Ford's face before, but he knew he didn't like it. Ford looked kind of sick, and like he was forcing himself to do something, and that felt like a very bad combination while Stan was tied up in front of him. "It won't happen. I know better. We can stop it. We - I can change it, I'll change it, it won't happen, Stan, I promise, it _won't._ **He** told me how -"

Stan grimaced the moment Ford said **he**. There was only one person Ford spoke of in that tone of voice - though Stan wasn't sure he was a person. A... being? "Should've guessed Mr. Imaginary Friend was behind this," he muttered -

\- and Ford almost _shrieked,_ "HE'S NOT IMAGINARY! HE'S REAL -"

"NO KIDDING!" Stan yelled back, cutting Ford off. Ford blinked at him, silenced, as Stan continued, "I ain't dumb enough to think _you're_ the one who decided ya needed to tie me t'the bed! Sorry for not knowin' the fancy terms for whatever-the-fuck he is, bro!" Ford mouthed a few words, looking poleaxed, then shook his head as the determination filtered back. (Was that relief Stan was seeing with it? Was it a good sign if it was?) "Now why the fuck _does_ whatever-he-is want ya to tie me to the bed?" Stan demanded, not quite able to keep his voice steady.

Ford paused, looking at him as if taking in his position for the first time. His expression shifted from mania and panic to a much more familiar 'I'm about to tell you why _I_ think this makes perfect sense', and Stan had to hold back a sigh of relief. He knew how to handle Ford - pontefracting? pontificating? whatever word meant going on about whatever was on his mind in a really stuck-up way. This was good, this was normal.

Except for the part where he was _still tied to the bed,_ but that was a minor detail, really.

" **He** told me what happens." Ford paused, and shook his head. "He _showed_ me what happens." He faltered, an expression of pure misery crossing his face, and Stan tried - again - to reach over and comfort him. "It starts with the science fair - or, well, I suppose it doesn't _start_ there, but that's the catalytic event -"

"What've cats got to do with anything?"

Ford paused to give Stan a truly impressive dirty look, and Stan preened at getting his brother out of his head. "The event that precipitates everything -"

"Ain't that rain?"

_"Stanley!"_ Stanley spread his hands as best he could, trying to look innocent. Ford was irritated, and Stan was a smartass. The world was back to normal.

Ford glared, and pouted (not that he'd admit that one), and continued. "You break my science fair project." Stan's smugness died - he wouldn't do something like that to his brother - "It's an accident." Oh. He would. Ford's face twisted like he wanted to cry as he continued, "It's an accident, but - I don't listen, I don't believe you, and Pop -" Stan winced. He didn't know why Pop was being mentioned, why he'd care, but he knew he wouldn't take it well. "P-Pop threw you out - throws you out," _What?_ "he - I-I-I _let_ him, I don't -"

"Hey, Sixer, there's no way you coulda stopped him," Stan said quickly, because whatever happened or would happen or whatever Ford was on about, he wasn't going to let his brother beat himself up for not doing the impossible.

Ford closed his eyes and shook his head. _"I let you go!_ I-I don't _look,_ I just - I spend the next - I spend _years_ telling myself I don't care, telling myself -" he stared at Stan, tears gathering in his eyes, "Stan, I tell myself you _deserve_ it."

The words felt like Crampelter had just punched him in the gut. Ford kept going before Stan could recover enough to say anything, "It- I just - Stan, there are so many worlds where you're hurt, where you - you _die,_ and I _don't help you._ I get - I spend years being _paid_ to study anomalies, and I'm still mad at you _over which scholarship I get!_ And then I -" he pressed a hand to his mouth, shaking his head. "I'm so lonely I summon a _demon,_ I let it sweet-talk me into almost _destroying the world,_ over ten years and I only call you because _I_ need help and _I don't even tell you why_ and I get mad at you for not helping - and then _thirty_ years, thirty more years apart and _I blame you for them_ and - and, do you know what the best possible outcome is?" He laughed wetly. "The best ending where we're both happy and safe _is the one where we're off hunting anomalies on the Stan o' War II like you tried to talk me into when I found my science fair project was broken!"_

That was... a lot. A lot of things Stan didn't want to believe, or think too hard about (Ford could spend years hating him for an accident? That couldn't be true... could it?). Stan took a deep breath, and tried to move, and got reminded that, oh yeah, _he was still tied to the bed._ How did that tie in with what Ford had just said? (How long had Mr. Imaginary Friend been stuffing that _poison_ in his brother's head? How long had Stan been letting that thing hurt his brother like this?)

"Soooo... you're gonna keep me tied here so I can't break your project? 'Cause, bro, you haven't even _made_ it yet, and I'm gonna have to go to the bathroom sometime." And there was the sick look and determination combo again. Not good.

"No! That wouldn't - if Pa's looking for an excuse to kick you out, then stopping one opportunity won't be enough, and I don't -" Ford twisted his fingers together and took a deep breath. " **He's** taught me a lot about magical theory and spellwork. For the most part, spells rely on the willpower of the caster, and long-lasting spells tend to require magical components which aren't available locally -" he ignored Stan's mutter of "No kidding?" without so much as an annoyed look - " _but_ there are alternatives. Not - _advisable,_ in most cases, but these _are_ exceptional circumstances, so..." He untangled his fingers, put his hands behind his back, and took another deep breath. "Blood is generally highly overrated in magical endeavours, but in this case it should anchor the spell's effects," _Blood?_ "and there is of course a great deal of power in a willing sacrifice, though it's important to channel that power properly so the spell doesn't need to be repeated -"

_"Are ya sayin' you're gonna kill me?"_ Stan burst out, and immediately tried to turn it into a joke with a shaky, "'cause I don't think the bed's gonna cut it as a sacrificial altar, you know?"

Ford blinked down at him, utterly confused. "Of course!"

The words left Stan gaping wordlessly. Before he could recover, Ford continued, "That's why I chose it - well, there were obviously considerations like how easy it would be to arrange you, but also so the sacrifice can't be misappropriated by any outside forces -"

"Ya mean of course it's not a sacrificial altar," Stan gasped out, slumping as much as he could in relief.

"Obviously? What else would I have meant?" asked Ford, blinking in confusion.

Stanley shook his head, laughing a little. "Don't worry about it, bro."

Ford blinked down at him with the expression he usually had when he was running over their latest conversation in his head - then jumped, eyes going wide. "I was _not_ saying 'of course I'm gonna kill you'!"

Stan laughed again, telling himself it would be stupid to need reassuring about that so he absolutely hadn't. "So, what's the plan?" because this was Ford, his brother, so it couldn't be anything too terrible.

Ford looked away from him, making a show of searching for something. He turned back with that sickened determination Stan had already learned to hate - and held up a scalpel.

Stan was still laughing breathily, but it had turned into disbelief. Ford busied himself with pouring disinfectant on a cotton-wool wad and wiping the scalpel with it, then pulled the sheet off Stan - and wow, this was a great moment to be reminded that he didn't even have his boxers on, he really shouldn't have taken advantage of the fact that Ma and Pa had gone to deal with something in the city and wouldn't be around to complain about him wandering naked to the bathroom - and then Ford pulled his own shirt off, and sat his _naked ass_ on Stan's thighs, and there were suddenly _two_ ways this could go that Stan didn't like!

Ford twirled the scalpel between his fingers like it was a pen, staring at it instead of meeting Stan's eyes. "I'm going to have to cut the symbols into us. You need to hold still while I'm doing that, so they don't get distorted. It is of _vital importance_ that you don't twist around while I'm doing this, do you understand?"

Stan stared at him, mouth running automatically, "Oh, should have guessed you'd strip off to keep your clothes clean."

"Stan!" Ford's head jerked up so he could glare at Stan properly. "This is serious! You have to hold still.

"Do. You. Understand?"

Stan stared back at Ford. He felt terrified, and more than a little sick himself - but Ford wasn't lying to him. This was something Ford felt like he _had_ to do, something that would protect them both.

And Stan would do anything to protect his brother.

He took a deep breath, clenched his fists (as much as he could, with how tightly they were tied), and closed his eyes. "Do it, bro."

Nothing happened.

Stan gritted his teeth, waiting for his twin to start carving him open, but Ford just sat there. "What're you waiting for, a kiss on the cheek?" he demanded, and Ford gasped and his weight shifted and -

The first stroke didn't even hurt at first, but then the second one pulled it and Stan couldn't help flinching at the sudden sting. Ford hissed with him, but didn't say anything as he added a third line, and Stan squinted one eye open to see why - just in time to wince it closed as Ford stabbed him a little bit.

Ford leaned back, shaking ever so slightly, and brought the scalpel to his own chest just under his left nipple, mirroring the spot where he'd cut Stanley. Stan watched as he carefully drew about three-quarters of a circle, added two lines opposite the gap, and then put a dot - so that was the stab! - in the centre of the gap.

"My turn again?" Stan asked, and Ford jumped, almost dropping the scalpel. He nodded jerkily, still silent, and bent over Stan again.

The second symbol was more involved - a short line at an angle, four vertical lines beside it, and a fifth line that started vertical and then curved down under the other four to stop under the angled line. Stan did his best not to squirm, even though the cuts were really starting to sting and the blood dripping from them was itchy as it ran down his chest and over his sides.

"This next one's more complex," Ford muttered, and Stan breathed in deep and held it to try and give Ford as steady a - canvas? - as he could.

Ford didn't hesitate this time, frowning in concentration as he carved line after line into Stan's upper stomach until Stan couldn't hold his breath any more and gasped loudly.

"Stan!" Ford lifted his hands and gave Stan the frown that meant he'd almost made Ford get something wrong.

Stan scowled back at him as he greedily sucked down a few more breaths before taking another and holding it again, trying to ignore how expanding his chest pulled on all his cuts. Ford paused, waiting to make sure he wasn't going to move, until Stan flapped a hand to tell him to get on with it.

He almost yelped at the quick slashes - were they supposed to be that deep? But then Ford was sitting back again, peering down at his own body, and Stan watched to see what had been cut into him this time to distract himself from the blood trailing down his sides. 

He tried to ignore the tacky mess of blood over Ford's stomach from the first two symbols. He wasn't sure Ford even noticed it, too focussed on what he was doing.

One angle over another, making a diamond with bits sticking out at the top and bottom. Two horizontal lines through it that didn't quite meet in the middle. A vertical line between them, with two angled lines making something that looked kind of like a pigeon foot with a really long back toe. An X to either side of the horizontal lines.

Ford swayed a bit, one hand going to Stan's shoulder to support himself. "Hey, nerd, you okay?" Stan asked, worried. He was feeling a bit light-headed himself, and _he_ wasn't sitting up so all his blood came dripping down his front.

Ford tried to smile at him, pale and shaky. "One last pattern to do," he said. Stan nodded.

"Do it."

This time the pattern was simple enough that he could tell what it was even before he saw it - a triangle around his bellybutton, and then a cross over it. Kind of weird for a protective spell, but Stan wasn't going to question it when they were almost done.

Once Ford had finished the design on himself, he slumped, arm falling to the side, scalpel slipping out of his hand and clattering to the floor.

"So, we're done now, right, bro? Time to untie me," Stan said, trying to sound upbeat as he watched to make sure Ford wasn't going to faint.

Ford's expression crumpled. He turned away, pretending he was looking for something, but Stan could tell he was just avoiding Stan's gaze again as he said, "The spell isn't complete - isn't activated until the sacrifice that's gonna - _going to_ power it." He grabbed a tub of vaseline off the floor and straightened up.

"What sacrifice."

Ford kept his eyes on what he was doing as he popped the lid off the tub and dug out lumps of the thick jelly, smearing them haphazardly over Stan's cuts and then his own. "Any sacrifice for this spell has to be made willingly," he said, voice wavering at first but settling into a steady tone as he lectured. "It needs to be something of personal importance, something the person sacrificing values. Preferably it will also have value in wider social terms - that is, other people would agree it's valuable - but personal value is the most important factor." He swallowed, digging his fingers into the vaseline again even though he'd coated all of their wounds with the stuff. "The, ah, the most commonly known sacrifice is of a life _which is absolutely not going to happen here,_ but." He shifted around till he was kneeling over Stan instead of sitting on him, twisting his arm behind himself. 

Stan stared, confused and slightly grossed out, trying to figure out what Ford was doing because it kind of looked from this angle like he was rubbing vaseline into his buttcrack. "Uh, bro? What're'ya doin'?"

Ford grimaced, and shifted, and kept avoiding Stan's gaze. "Preparing," he said, in a tone that was trying for grim but had too much nervousness in it.

"Preparin' for _what?"_ Because the first idea Stan hadn't liked of how things were about to go had been wrong, so now Ford just had to prove the second one was too, and then they could see about making these sacrifices... that apparently Stan had to be tied down for...

"My sacrifice." Ford finished whatever he was doing, and got _even more_ vaseline.

"Are ya sacrificin' the jelly?"

_That_ got Ford to look at him again, head snapping up so he could direct the full force of his glare at Stan. "No! Stan, I _just_ told you what's required for something to count as a sacrifice, you can't think that _vaseline_ has some kind of personal importance to me!"

"Hey, you're the one who said you're makin' your sacrifice and then started playin' with-" Stan cut off with a yelp as Ford grabbed his dick. _"Hey!_ Ford, the fuck are you doin'?"

Ford was blushing, and back to looking sick, and staring very intently at Stan's dick as he stroked it with his vaseline-slick hand. "Preparing my sacrifice."

"That's _my_ dick!" Which was reacting to Ford's slick hand in a way Stan _very much did not want it to,_ thanks, and not even _Ford_ was oblivious enough not to notice Stan getting hard _while Ford was stroking him!_

Ford swallowed again, looking kind of like he was about to _be_ sick. "There is a - a time-honoured tradition of virginity being held as valuable, and while that is _generally_ not applied to males, this specific - aspect - is..."

"What, you're sacrificing having your first time with someone who ain't your brother?"

"W-well, I - that too, I guess, but I _meant_ -" Stan's dick was hard and really fucking slick, and Ford got up on his knees and kind of shuffled up the bed so he was above it, and continued in a voice that cracked and squeaked with tension, "being the receiving partner in homosexual intercourse," and lowered himself.

"Whoa, whoa WHOA!" Stan yelled, trying to squirm away but not getting anywhere, trying to reach to stop Ford but he was tied too tightly to the bed, trying to will his dick down but Ford's skin against his was hot and kind of slippery and Stan's dick wasn't listening - and then he could _feel_ Ford's asshole give way and Ford sank down on him with a cry of pain, and for a moment all Stan could feel was tight slick heat around his hard dick.

If he'd wanted this, if any part of him (other than his dick) had liked what was going on, Stan would have come right then. Knowing that made him feel sicker than the fact that Ford was willing to do this to him - to both of them, he corrected himself, looking at the pain on his twin's face as Ford hunched in on himself. Ford was gasping, almost sobbing, as he started to rock his hips, trying to fuck himself on Stan's dick, and for a horrible moment Stan was torn between trying to comfort and reassure him - or taking a vicious satisfaction in the proof that Ford wasn't enjoying this, either.

And then Ford jolted, tightening around Stan so much it _hurt,_ and his expression went from pained to horrified. _"Shit,"_ he gasped out, and jerked up like he was trying to get away - only to fall back with a groan as his legs gave out under him.

_"Ford?!"_ Stan's wrists were raw with how much he'd strained against the ropes tying him down, but that didn't stop him from trying to reach and catch his brother. Ford was _crying,_ shaking his head in refusal. "Can't, I can't, I can't," he sobbed, covering his face with his hands, and his ass was randomly clenching around Stan's dick and Stan really hated that he was noticing that.

"Ya don't have to," Stan tried. "You can find somethin' else ta sacrifice, a'right? Doesn' hafta be this!"

The words made Ford look up, and it felt like he was really seeing Stan for the first time since Stan had woken up tied to the bed. "We'll find somefin' else," Stan promised, trying to get through to him. Trying to stop this before it went too far, and trying not to think what 'too far' even was if this wasn't it.

Ford looked like he did when the teachers at school taught something he didn't already know, which was just weird because how could he not know something about Stan?

"That's - I - you'd forgive me? Even after..."

Stan blinked at him. He'd thought that Stan wouldn't? "Yeah," he said gently, "I forgive ya."

Ford shut his eyes and breathed in deeply, then held Stan's gaze. His voice trembled, but his eyes were steady as he asked, "Would you forgive me if I don't stop?"

Stan couldn't hold back a noise of protest - Ford _wanted_ to stop, neither of them wanted this - but Ford didn't have his 'I'm being stubborn _because'_ expression on. Maybe there was a rule against switching sacrifices, maybe there were bad consequences or something.

Maybe there wasn't anything else that Ford valued enough to offer as a sacrifice.

And maybe there wasn't any good reason and Ford just _thought_ he had to keep going because he got stuck on dumb ideas sometimes, but Stan had followed Ford in every dumb idea he'd had before now and this wasn't going to be the thing that changed that.

"Yeah. I will."

The relief on Ford's face reassured him he'd made the right choice even as Ford braced himself against Stan's shoulders and started to move his hips again.

Stan gritted his teeth, then shifted his legs to brace both feet on the bed. The move made Ford yelp as Stan's dick was jostled inside him. "What're you doing?"

"Sacrificin'." Because maybe what Stan was giving up here couldn't be tied up in a neat single word like 'virginity', but that didn't mean he wasn't giving up things he valued. 

Things like being able to ever look his brother in the face again without remembering this. Like the chance to have his first time be with someone he actually wanted (and fuck, he was never going to get back with Carla after this, he couldn't picture letting _anyone_ touch him ever again after this and there was no way he could ever explain to her). Like believing he _wasn't_ the kind of guy who could stay hard fucking his twin brother's ass _when neither of them even wanted to._

Stan braced his feet on the bed, and Ford braced himself on Stan's shoulders, and they found a way of moving together that did what it was supposed to. There was one spot inside Ford that had a direct link to his dick or something, because he got harder every time Stan's dick hit it, and that made him tighten up in a way that Stan would have probably really liked if he'd liked anything about this. At first, Ford was trying to avoid Stan hitting that spot, but Stan had to ask, "Does it count as losing yer virginity if you don't come?" and the look on Ford's face said he didn't know but he wouldn't take the risk, and then Stan had to deal with watching his brother jerk himself off while he rode Stan's dick. And feeling how his brother jerking himself off was echoed through his body.

Stan felt like he was going to vomit. Stan felt like he was going to scream. Stan felt like he was going to cum, and the way Ford's face was twisting up said he felt the same.

_This protection we're sacrificin' for better be worth it,_ Stan thought bitterly, and then the slick heat squeezing his dick was too much for him to resist and Ford was sobbing as he forced himself to come too and Stan was never sure if he imagined the flash of light from all those symbols Ford had cut into them.

Ford collapsed onto Stan, sobbing. The jolt of pain from the sudden pressure on his cuts, combined with the fact that he'd just come and the fact that he hadn't wanted any of this, made Stan's dick finally go limp and slip out of Ford's ass.

"Hey. Nerd. You gonna untie me now?" Stan asked, and he was trying to sound gentle but he _really fucking needed_ to be freed from this bed _right fucking now._

Ford jerked up and scrambled up the bed, almost diving onto the posts as Stan cringed, unable to get away from the risk of his face getting far too close to his twin's dick. Ford fumbled at the ropes tying Stan down, getting more and more frantic, then lunged to the side and fell off the bed.

"You okay?" Stan asked, worried. Ford sat up, snatching up the scalpel he'd been after.

"Fine," he said quickly, climbing back on the bed to saw at the ropes until they parted and Stan could finally pull his arms down. He rubbed his wrists and then decided not to do that again and moved to rubbing his hands together until the numbness had faded.

"Great, so we can go get washed," he said with the brightest grin he could manage at Ford. "'Cause I hate to tell you, Poindexter, but you are _not_ gonna get away with avoiding a shower this time."

Ford's face twitched. Stan felt a spark of anger, but he managed to shove it back down where it would be hidden - he'd chosen as much as Ford had, there was no point getting mad at the nerd for something they'd - something they'd both chosen. (Even if Ford had chosen it _for_ him at first -)

Stan stood up, and lightly punched Ford's arm like it was just another day, and said, "C'mon, nerd, let's get going. Betcha we can make it to the beach before Ma and Pops get home, maybe see if there's anything good to -"

"Stop it."

"Huh?" Stan paused as he was heading to their shared chest of drawers to pick out some boxers (and hey, at least Ma would be happy he was suddenly feeling an urge to cover up a bit more!), and turned back towards Ford.

Ford was swaying a little, but the set of his jaw was the pure stubborn that hadn't been there when Stan was looking for why he was insisting on keeping going. "Just - just _stop,"_ Ford said as if he was answering the comparison Stan had made.

"Stop what?"

"Stop - stop pretending everything's normal! Stop acting like nothing's happened! Can't you just be serious for once?!"

The anger flared up, and this time Stan embraced it and Ford was looking very sorry he'd opened his mouth as Stan glared at him and spat, "You tied me to a bed and r- _rode_ me," the way Ford paled said he'd heard the word Stan couldn't force out loud and clear, "instead of _talkin'_ to me about this shit when you heard it so we could maybe figure out a better way to handle it!" Stan realised his fists were clenched so tightly they were shaking as he glared at his brother. "Believe me, bro, me being serious about this is the _last_ thing you want." He turned away and took a few deep breaths, trying to pack his anger away again. Ford hadn't meant to hurt him, and yelling at him now wasn't going to change anything that had just happened. "Let's go get breakfast." Clothes could wait.

He looked back as he reached the door, to find Ford stood frozen where he'd left him. He almost asked, 'What're you waiting for, a kiss on the cheek?' - but this would be the worst time for that question. He turned and walked back, seeing how Ford tensed up as he got closer - and leaned in to press a smacking kiss to his brother's cheek.

Ford turned tomato-red. _"Stanley?"_

Stanley looked at him. Naked, front covered in his own blood, miserable - but still his twin. The guy who'd willingly sacrificed his first time, self-respect, and a bunch of other stuff that could all be tied up under 'virginity' to protect Stan, because he hadn't figured out that he wouldn't be the only one paying. 

Yeah, this would take time to get over - but they'd manage it. "C'mon," he said, taking Ford's hand and tugging gently. "Breakfast."

**Author's Note:**

>  **He** is not meant to be Bill Cipher, if anyone was wondering.


End file.
